


My Greatest Sin, Dean Winchester, Was Loving You.

by OfficialTB02



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Blood, Character Death, Dean is a dick, Depression, Drinking, Explicit Language, F/M, Grieving Dean, Grieving Dean Winchester, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sad, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Upset Castiel, Wincest - Freeform, reference to wee!cest, someone hug sammy, upset crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialTB02/pseuds/OfficialTB02
Summary: Sam has had feelings for his brother, Dean, for the longest of times. Maybe it was the way they have relied on each other, or maybe it was the way Dean was his brother, best friend, and father.But what happens when Dean finds out about Sammy's feelings by finding his journal? And what happens when Dean doesn't return said feelings?With a distraught and disgusted Dean, misery couldn't even begin to describe Sam's feelings.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the following story might not be suitable for younger viewers -- for some parts may make some uncomfortable. If you cannot handle the following themes, please exit this book immediately.
> 
> \-- Depression,  
> \-- Anorexia  
> \-- Suicide/Death  
> \-- Alcoholism/Drug Abuse
> 
>  
> 
> (please keep in mind that this story is yet to be edited. thank you)

"Sam, get in here now." Dean yelled through the Bunker. Fixing his shirt, Sam walked into his own room, where Dean was located, and stopped mid step. Eyes widened as his throat began to close in on him, making it hard to breath.

"What the Hell is this?" Dean barked, raising the black leather journal up to Sam. It was Sammy's. In that leather backed journal held all his darkest secrets.

From describing his first time, to his sexual and romantic feelings for his brother. "D-Dean.." Sam stuttered, taking a step forward.

"No." Dean stopped him, his hand up. "Is it true?" Dean questioned sounding repulsive.

"D-"

"Is it true?" he spat, glaring up at his brother, "Do you have... 'feelings' for me?" he shuddered at the word.

Sam, with tears filling in his eyes, only nodded, not able to form the words correctly.

Sneering, Dean slammed the journal down on Sam's bed. He looked like he was going to get sick. "You sick fucker." Dean muttered before walking towards the door.

"Dean, let me ex-explain.." Sam whispered, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Spinning around to face Sam, he knocked his hand off and threw a hard punch causing Sam to stumble back. "De-"

"Don't you, ever, touch me again, you sick freak." he growled before knocking Sam's shoulder as he left the room feeling disgusted with himself and his brother.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, tears filling his eyes. Suddenly, it was hard to breath. Sam was about to chase after his big brother, but though best of it as he heard the loud roar of the Impala rear off into the distances. Both brothers knew that Dean wasn't coming home anytime soon.

The walls around Sam's bedroom suddenly started to move closer -- trapping him in his place. Shaking his head, he stumbled as he tried to get a breath of air, but to his luck, was only rewarded a cough. Letting out a sob, he made his way towards the kitchen. Stumbling in, once again, he grabbed a couple of beers. By a couple, more like a whole case. Closing the fridge with his foot, he walked over to the cabinet, grabbing his antidepressants. Only after eyeing the sharp razor blade.

'I mean, it wouldn't be the first time.' he thought, but only frown, shutting the door back a little bit to hard; breaking some of the glass on the mirror. Huffing, he walked back to his room, shutting the door behind him, locking it as well.

Sitting on his bed, he placed the beer case a side, opening his pills with shaky hands. Downing two, like the doctor prescribed, he placed the lid back on the bottle tightly, setting it carefully on the wooden nightstand beside of him and his bed.

Then, he opened the beer case, grabbing an ice cold one from the batch. Popping the red cap off of it, he then took a swig. Taking a deep breath, he glanced around the room, trying to control his thoughts. But it didn't work out well, for the memories of earlier became more clear and vibrant. Eyes landed over towards the journal that was now on Sam's bed. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took another deep breath, counting to ten like the doctor told him, and then reopening them. Placing the case of beer in the floor, and the open beer on the nightstand besides his medicine, he took off his shoes and readjusted himself on the bed.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he poked the journal with his foot. Eyes began to get blurry once more, but he quickly wiped them away with the long sleeve of his flannel. His jaw ticked as he reached over and grabbed the leather bounded journal, opening it to a random page.

 

_"Diary Entry Number 5; Age 13_   
_It's been a rough week, trying to hide it from Dean. He keeps asking me about all these girls in my class -- wondering if I've hooked up with any yet, or if there was any that I liked. Well, I mean, I like Dean, but I can't just say, 'Hey, I wanna have sex with my brother' now can I? Oh, shit. Dad and Dean are home from the hunt. Till next time._   
_-S.W."_

 

Chewing on the inside of his cheek he flipped to another page.

 

_"Diary Entry Number 43; Age 15_

_Dean is saying my hormones and 'instincts' are kicking in -- seeing 'I'm fifteen and all'. He's probably right-- Hell, I know he's right. But, he keeps saying that I should hook up with a girl.. again.. He even said that he'll give me the room if I needed it. But, I can't. Rather, I won't. There is only one person that I love in this entire world; that's Dean. I don't want to waste myself for someone, knowing that Dean is the only person that will be on my mind. Besides, I'll just end up alone. I know I can't have De, and I know he wouldn't want me either. It's a curse to love your brother._   
_-S.W."_

 

Eyes watered once more -- Sam was an emotional wreck; and he had every right to be. Flipping to one last page, he gritted his teeth and read.

 

_"Diary Entry Number 61; Age 18_

_I'm getting getting ready for bed, but Dean won't keep it down in the hotel room beside of mine. He's fucking another girl -- and she's moaning like a mad woman. God, it hurts. Bad. It feels like my heart is breaking into two, literally and figuratively. I'm going to Stanford soon. Maybe, just maybe, I can forget about all this. One can hope._   
_-S.W."_

 

Letting out a silent sob, Sam threw the journal towards the bottom of his bed. Grabbing his opened beer, he downed it quickly before throwing it onto the floor, it smashing into millions of tiny pieces. Reaching down to the floor, he pulled the case of beer back up onto his lap, opening another one and downing it minutes later. After beer and more beer, Sam finished the whole case. Hiccuping, he looked up at the ceiling.

For minutes, he just wished that it was him burning on that ceiling instead of Jess, or his mother. How it would save him the pain. Lucifer wouldn't have a vessel; meaning the apocalypse wouldn't have started. Azazel wouldn't have done what he did, giving Dean more of an extra boost to find the cult and gank the sonofabitch. And his father.. His father would have been alive still.. more or likely. Hell, if Mary hadn't had him in the first place, none of this would have happened. Sam wouldn't had been born, leading to Mary not getting burned alive on the ceiling; leading to John and his son not hunting; leading to a normal, apple pie life.

But, unfortunately, he was born, screwing the order all up. "Dammit!" he cried, his voice echoing off the boring white plastered walls.

 

* * *

 

The next few days had been rough. Dean came home only to go straight to his room, sending a disgusting glare to his brother when they passed each other in the hallway. Their once, usual 'good mornings' were now nonexistent and silent. Half the time, the only sound echoing in the bunker was the sound of Sam's silent sobs and breaking heart.

Today, however, marked the third week of Sam and Dean not talking to each other. Though Sam tried, he was only silenced by a sharp glare and a disgusted look. Dean couldn't even look his little brother in the eyes. Their once brotherly relationship that Sam had been so fond of was now destroyed by a single journal. And it was completely all Sam's fault.

Dean was now gone out to God knows where. Sam, however, was still in his bedroom in the Bunker. He barely left the room. The only time he did was to get more beer and shower. And that was very rare as well.

Sam was running out of medication along with this all. Down to his last pill, he stared at the empty bottle. He had no more left. All except the one. What Sam did next shocked him, himself. Shaking the white pill out of the bottle and into his hand, he placed it on the floor and stomped on it, breaking it into dust with his foot. Jaw ticking and tears threatening, he took the bottle in his hands and threw it at the wall in front of him. The prescribed container ricocheted off the wall, landing right next to Sam's feet.

Taking a deep breath, the younger Winchester stared at the bottle. A tear splashed against the cold concrete floor beside of it. Knitting his eyebrows, he raised his left hand up to feel his cheek. Looking back at the hand, he suddenly realized what it was. He was crying. It was almost like that one tear had been a gate way to the next. Soon, Sam was full on sobbing.

Sitting on his bed once more, he took his last beer from his last case and opened it with his bare hands, it cutting his finger in the process. Instead of going and blotting the blood up, however, Sam just took a big drink of the alcohol, watching as the blood dripped onto the floor.

It wasn't a very big cut, but it wasn't a small one either. It was a perfect nick.

Fascinated, Sam finished the beer, all the while being quite drunk, and stood up. Standing up, however, was less easy, for all the memories of when Dean found out came rushing back to him.

All the hateful words, the sharp stares, the silence in the mornings following afterwards, everything. Then, he thought back to how he broke the order. More blood dripped on the flooring as a recurring thought from the past week came rushing back. "What if I just go. I don't come back. Maybe, just maybe, Dean will forget about it."

With that plan in mind, Sam walked to the bathroom and wrapped his finger in a small band-aid. Walking pack to his bedroom, he pulled his usual duffel bag out of the closet and threw it on his bed.

Going over to his drawers, he packed all his clothes, underwear, flannels, whatever he could find. Reaching under his bed, he grabbed his journal and reluctantly put it in the bag. Tying his shoe laces, he sat up off the bed and walked over to the nightstand. Grabbing multiple fake ID's and cards, he stuffed them into his wallet. Eyeing his phone, he decided to leave it back, just in case Dean decided to trace it. Which, was very doubtful.

The only thing that made him worry was Cas finding him. After figuring that Dean wouldn't tell him about the situation, he left the his bedroom, turning the light switch off.

Walking towards the Bunker library, he walked down the rows of book filled shelves, running his fingers along the dusty hardbacks. He continued this until his finger stopped on a certain worn out book. The faded wording barely reading out the title; The Great Gatsby.

Sam has loved the book ever since he found it in the back of the library in that one town they were stationed at for a short period of time, all for a hunt of course. Sam pursed his lips, opening the book and flipping to the marked page, skimming over the wording as the smell of the book filled his senses. The younger Winchester has always loved the smell of books, Dean would always tease him about it too.

Sam motions froze as he sniffed. Dean. That's the reason he's going. That's the reason that he's leaving the Bunker. That is the reason that he's so heartbroken. All because of a stupid journal that his bigger brother found. Closing the book closed with a 'snap', he put it in the pocket of the bag, and headed for the entrance.

Walking a few miles, he spotted a car. Thankfully, no body was around. Quickly, he hot wired the car and jumped in, riding off to as far away as possible.

* * *

 

Silence. That's what Dean came home to. Turning on the Bunker light switch, he knitted his eyebrows. Having all the lights completely off was odd. Walking back to the kitchen, he grabbed a beer and started to head towards his room. To get to his room, however, he needed to pass Sam's room. Disgusted, he took a swig of his beer and headed down the hallway.

He almost reached his room before he noticed something. Sam's door was open. That never happened. And what was even weirder was that his light was off. Carefully turning the light switch on, Dean showed no emotion as he saw Sam's dresser drawers piled up against the wall. He showed no emotion when he saw that all the clothes were missing from them, either.

Sam had left. No note, no goodbye, no nothing.

And for once in Dean Winchester's life, he could have cared less.

 

* * *

 

Sam had finally arrived at some cheap ass motel a few days later. Walking into the room, he placed his duffel bag on the empty bed and took off his shoes. Grabbing his laptop, of course he couldn't forget that beauty, he opened it on the round wooden table and typed in his password.

Once loaded in, Sam found that his usual plain blue background wasn't there, but was replaced of a picture of Dean crossed eyed and smiling stupidly. Sam thought back to when this could have happen, which he came to the conclusion that it happened right before Dean found the journal; seeing that he hasn't touched his laptop in months. Literally.

With a heavy heart, he changed it back to his normal background; all sad and blue.

Then he scrolled through his photos, all pictures of either him and Dean, or just Dean. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of Dean. His big brother could probably care less that he left. Right now he's probably watching some porno on the TV, enjoying the empty space. Hell, he probably has a girl over.

Deleting all the pictures, he closed his laptop and stared at the wall in front of him. It was bare and an ugly shade of yellow. The sound of his stomach rumbling brought him to his attention. Poking at the piece of flesh, he scowled. He needed to eat, but he didn't have much of an apatite to begin with. Ever since Dean found out, it's been hard for him to do the most simplest of things; for example, shower, eat, sleep, get dressed, and many more.

He also stopped with his normal exercise routine. Of course he remand skinny, but not in a good way. You could almost see his rib cage through the flesh. He was so skinny that he looked like a toothpick. Almost all of his muscle was gone, replaced with skin and bones.

Closing his eyes for a quick moment, he got up and moved towards his bed. Opening the duffel bag, he pulled out his favourite book, opening to the first chapter. After a couple of hours of reading, Sam realized that it was now around midnight.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, he placed the worn out book on the hotel's nightstand and moved the duffel bag to where it was now on the floor.

Pulling the covers down, he slid in the bed with much trouble. It hurt when he moved in certain ways, weird really. His head hit the pillow softly as he pulled the blanket up to his chest, not caring that he was in his day clothes; he'd probably will be up in a couple of hours any way.

Turning on his side, Sam side, getting teary eyed as he realized what he'd done. He had ran away from his problems. But that was the best he could do at a time like this.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Sam woke up with two hours of sleep. He was at the point where he was so tired that he wasn't even tired.

Sam still hasn't ate either. He felt like he couldn't. The younger Winchester still hasn't gotten a refill on the antidepressants, though he wish he'd did.

Looking down at his old journal, he picked it up with bony hands. Throwing it softly on the bed, he walked into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror.

The bags under his eyes were dark and red, his skin clinging to his bones like wet cloth on a human body. His shaggy hair even more shaggier as it fell almost past his shoulders. He didn't even think about cutting it, that is until now.

Maybe, Sam thought, maybe if he cut his hair shorter, Dean would love him again. Of course this was all false, shorter hair wouldn't solve this problem, but, with his delusion, it 'could'.

Taking a pair of rusty kitchen scissors, Sam took silver things between his hand, grabbing a fistful of hair and cutting through it. The golden brown locks falling into the bathroom sink. A tear rolled down his face as he cut it more and more. Soon, his once beautiful long hair was now as short as Dean's.

With thin lips, he placed the scissors down on the counter. Walking back into the other room of the hotel, Sam carefully picked up his leather bounded journal and a pencil. He turned to the last page and began to write what seemed to be like his final farewell.

Ripping the pages out, he folded them up neatly and held them at his side. Summoning Crowley, the demon came reluctantly with a scowl.

"What the Hell do you want, Winche-- What the hell happened to you?" Crowley asked in shock, eyes roaming his skinny, pale figure.

Sam just gave the King a sad smile, a tear rolling down his face. "I need to ask a favour." he whispered, voice cracking.

 

* * *

 

Crowley didn't want to do. He really didn't. But, in the end, he gave in. He agreed to Sam's favour -- even though he would rather give up his throne than go through with it. Sam gave Crowley the letter, ordering him to give it to Dean when this was all over.

"I don't like this." Crowley muttered to the Winchester, a sad look placed on his face. "I don't want to be the one who killed Sam Winchester." he croaked.

Sam gave, yet again, another sad smile. "You won't, a Hell hound will."

The King scoffed, "And who the Hell would believe that?" he questioned, his British accent coming through strong at the words.

"A lot of people, hopefully." Sam pursed his lips. "I want to thank you, Crowley."

"What do you mean?" he questioned, tilting his head slightly like the way Castiel did.

"For everything. You've been a pain in the ass, but you've been there. Thank you, Crowley. Truly." Sam whispered.

Crowley huffed a shaky breath. "You've been there too, Moose. Just know, if you ever come to Hell, you can always been my second in command. The offers yours, if you'd like it."

Shaking his head, the taller man felt a small tear run down his face. "You know I couldn't accept that, Crowley."

The demon nodded his head, "I know." he whispered back.

 

* * *

 

It was over like a flash. The pain, however, stayed a bit longer. It was unbearable at first, but Sam slowly got used to it as he eyesight began to blur, his heartbeat beginning to slow. Taking in a fading breath, he gave Crowley a thin lipped smile. "Thank y--" he started to whisper, but it was too late. He was gone. Sam Winchester had died. And worst of all, Crowley let it happen.

Snapping his fingers, the King of Hell got rid of the body, burning it just like in a hunter's funeral; all do to Sam's request of course.

Crowley then reappeared into the Bunker, scaring the ever living shit out of Dean. "Crowley? How the Hell did you know where the Bun--"

"Save it." Crowley gritted out. "I hate your bloody guts, you know that?" he yelled, his face going red from anger and sadness.

"What the Hell did I do?" Dean shouted back, his eyebrows raised.

Taking the note out of his suit pocket, he threw the folded letters on the table. Glaring at Dean, he seethed, "I hope you get to live with this guilt, Dean Winchester. And when I see you in Hell, I will personally put you in The Cage with Lucifer."

With those words, Crowley snapped his fingers and he was gone without a trace.

Knitted eyebrows, Dean walked over towards the table, opening them up to reveal Sam's hand writing.

 

_"To My Dearest Dean,_

_Hey Dean. I know this is the last person you want to hear from, but it's time you know something. I haven't been feeling myself lately, since you found out."_

 

Those words alone made Dean's heart start to race slightly.

 

_"I figured that once you found out it wouldn't end well. So I left. I couldn't stand the silent nights, and the glares of disgust. I hated the way that you would avoid me, as if I was a monster -- which I am. I hot wired a car and drove. I didn't know where at first, Hell, when I arrived a motel, I still didn't know. But, I stayed at the motel, until now. I haven't been eating right. Rather, at all. I've barely been outside, I can't stand to look at myself for more than five minutes, I can't sleep, and so much more. I've gotten skinnier Dean."_

 

Dean's heart began to swell, tears forming in his eyes.

 

_"I was out of my medicine again. I couldn't ask you to call it in for me like you always did, so I just didn't bother with it. I was drunk most of the time, probably good I didn't have any pills either. I thought about cutting myself, like I've done before, but I decided against it. Oh, did I tell you I cut my hair? It's around your length now. I decided if it was going to end like this, I should do something to surprise you."_

 

"End like this.. What the Hell are you getting at Sam.." Dean muttered, sniffing and wiping his nose with his flannel sleeve.

 

_"Getting back on topic, I called Crowley recently. I told him all about what happened; and he didn't judge. He didn't think of me any different. Then, I asked him a favour. I asked him to set his Hell hounds on me."_

 

Dean's heart dropped to his stomach.

 

_"At first, he didn't agree. But after begging and begging, I got him to do it. I told him to give this letter to you after it. Dean, please don't try to bring me back. I know that you won't try in the first place, but I'm begging you. Whether I'm in Heaven or Hell, anywhere is better than being ignored by you. I'm running out of room to write, but I want to tell you this, Dean. Please don't do anything to rash while I'm gone. All I ask of you is to see you in the after life in a few years, not hours or days or even weeks."_

 

Dean sniffed, tears streaming down his face. He didn't care that he was now an emotional mess.

 

_"I guess this is my final farewell.. I just want to say that I'm proud of you, Dean. I'm proud of us._

_My greatest sin, Dean Winchester, is loving you, and yet, I regret none of it._

_\--for ever and always, your little brother_ _,_ _Sammy."_


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must come to an end.

 

It's been days. Weeks. Months-- but Dean didn't pay any attention to that. Ever since Sammy's suicide, Dean hasn't been able to think clearly. It was like his mind was clouded with hurt and sorrow. Sam didn't deserve what Dean put him through -- but, yet, Dean put him through it anyways. 

It was all his fault that his little brother was gone. 

 

* * *

 

Recently, Mary came back from the dead, all thanks to a certain 'friend', and Dean, naturally told Mary what had happened. He told her everything; how he found Sam's journal, all his nasty glares at little Sammy, him running off... his suicide. Dean even showed her the note. 

From the second Mary picked up the note, she was in tears. Half of them were in sorrow for loosing her baby, and the other half were tears of anger towards Dean. Sure, it was the natural thing to do at first, but he could of tried to make small talk or something at least. 

"This is your fault, Dean." Mary spoke in monotone, her hand gripping tightly against the letter. "You kill Sam, you did." she hissed. Dean's heart broke at that; all because it was true. He did kill Sammy. It was all his fault, his mother was right.

"I-I'm sor --" Dean tried to say but Mary cut him off by slamming her hand against the wooden table, making the brother jump.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Dean. You killed your brother -- my son! And all you have to say is 'I'm sorry'?!" At this point, Mary was fuming. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she laid the worn out letter on the table gently. Standing up completely, she picked her coat up off the back of the table and slid into it.

"Where are you going?" Dean whispered out in a strangled soft voice.

"It doesn't matter." the woman said coldly, flicking up her coat lapel's. "I want you to do me this, Dean." she started as she placed her hand on the Bunker's door handle. Opening it, she turned back and glared into her 'sons' eyes. "I want you to loose my number and don't you  _ever_  contact me again. I don't care if your on your death bed, either." And with that, Mary Winchester left the Bunker. The sound of her son's crying echoing the room as the heavy metal door slammed behind her.

After that incident, Dean, indeed, never heard from her again.

 

* * *

 

"Cas, please, you got to do something!" Dean begged, his voice becoming weaker and weaker as he pleaded to his angel friend. 

"I'm sorry, Dean. There is nothing that I can do to bring Sam back." Castiel apologized. Sam's death messed up the angel too. It affected his just as much as it affected Dean. The three has been through the thick and thin with each other, and seeing one of them die.. it was just too overwhelming.

"But Cas -- please! I'm begging you! I'll do anything!" Dean bargained once more.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Castiel spoke. A ruffle of feathers were heard and in a blink, the trench coated angel disappeared from sight.

 

* * *

 

"What?" Chuck asked angrily. 

"Chuck.. please.. I'm begging you, bring back Sammy.." 

God's jaw ticked. "So you can ignore him again? So you can send him your worst glares and make him suffer through it all over again? Or so you can have a punching bag to take out all your drunken anger and disgust on?"

Dean visibly winced. But Chuck didn't care, he kept talking.

"You known what, Dean? When I found out what happened, I was heartbroken! How could you treat your little brother like that? I know it's not right for him to have those kind of feelings towards you, but still! Do you know how  _hurt_ Sam was -- or how heartbroken and distraught he was?" Chuck's words were like venom. They stung.

"I know!" Dean nearly sobbed. "It is all my fault that Sam's dead, but please, just bring him back! I won't hurt him or anything! I just miss my baby brother!" This time, Dean did sob. It wasn't like one of those movie sobs were the actor was crying ever so perfectly, but it was one of true meaning, of hurt, of sorrow, of self hatred, of love.

Chuck didn't say anything, he only glared as Dean continued to sob on the floor, his knees tucked to his chest. 

"No." was all Chuck said before he disappeared into thin air, just like Castiel and the rest.

 

* * *

 

Dean looked at himself in the mirror, his hands on either side of the sink counter top. He looked awful, to say in kind words. His once stubble was now more visible, a patchy beard growing on his face. The bags under his eyes were so dark and heavy looking. The red the surrounded them were no better. Hell, he even grew out his hair to be the length like Sam's.

'Is this how Sam felt?' Dean questioned him self in silence. 'Is this how I made him feel?'

Those thoughts rung out in his head, bouncing off one wall to the next. Dean Winchester screwed up. There was nothing he could do. All hope was lost. 

 

* * *

 

Dean hasn't eaten in what seemed like days. He barely drank anything besides beer or hard liquor. He spent most of his times in a drunken haze, trying his hardest to forget about what he did to Sam. But, alas, it was no use. Everything and anything reminded him of his baby brother. 

The pictures, his Impala, flannel, everything.

One by one, Dean started to care for each thing more. Dusting off the pictures of him and his brother together every day, washing the Impala every other day, though it's been sitting in the same spot for months. He even wore more flannel than he use to -- all because Sam.

He thought that if he cared for each thing more and more, it would bring back his brother. But just like all his failed attempts before, it didn't.

 

* * *

 

_May Sixth, 2016._

One day away from it being a year after his little brother died. How he managed to get through one whole year baffled even the smartest of people.

But with each passing day, Dean became more and more tired. More and more hungry, and more and more _sick_.

 

* * *

 

_May Seventh, 2016._

_Exactly one year after Dean's life changed for the worse. Exactly one year since Sammy committed suicide. Today was the day that he lost his own brother for good. The day that Dean Winchester killed himself._

 

* * *

 

And after a year without seeing his brother, he nearly sobbed when he saw Sammy waiting for him at those pearly gates. "Hey, Dean." Sam smiled sadly, tears in his eyes.

"Sammy.." was all Dean could say as he pulled his brother into a tight embrace, his hands tangling with Sam's short hair as he cried into his shoulder.

"Gotta say, Dean, love what you did with your hair." Sam commented with a small chuckle, his hands brushing through Dean's longer locks.

"Could say the same to you." Dean said back, pulling away from his taller young brother and sniffing, wiping his nose and eyes with his flannel sleeve.

"I thought I told you that I didn't want to meet you until you were older.." Sam spoke sadly, his eyes getting transfixed into those hazel green eyes.

"Fuck that." Was all that Dean could say as he pulled his brother into, yet another, tight embrace.

"Why did you do it?" Sam asked sternly, him pulling away this time as he glanced into those god forsaken eyes.

"Do what?" Dean asked, trying to play it off. 

"You know what I mean.." Sam warned, seeming as is he was towering over Dean. The older Winchester sighed and sniffed.

_"I couldn't live without you, Sammy. I really couldn't."_

And with those words, Dean Winchester awoke with a start.

He was back in his bed.Sitting up straight, Dean looked down at his lap, pajama pants that he only wore when Sam was alive. Eyebrows knitted in confusion, Dean got up from his bed and walked into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he nearly gasped when he saw himself.

He looked perfectly healthy! No bags under his eyes, no pale complexion, no long hair, nothing. It looked as if he did when Sam was still alive... Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he rushed out of the bathroom, nearly tripping over the carpet in there, as he ran to the kitchen.

Getting closer and closer to the room, Dean heard a sound of laughter that sounded all too familiar.

Entering the kitchen, Dean froze. There, at the kitchen table, was Sam and Castiel, hovering over the younger's laptop as they laughed at some video playing. Looking up, Sam chuckled and waved Dean over. "Dean, come look at this video that Cas found. It's actually pretty good." Sam laughed.

Gulping, Dean shook his head, rubbing his eyes as well. Reopening them, he saw the two in the same place. Pinching his side, he continued to watch Sam and Castiel giggle over the computer screen.

Taking a step closer, Dean looked around to make sure this wasn't some kind of trap or sick joke. "Dean, what's the matter?" Sam asked, pausing the video and looking up at his older brother.

"Is that really you?" Dean questioned, his expression reading of one that was sad and shocked. Nodding with furrowed eyebrows, Sam gave a worried glance to Castiel.

"Yeah.." 

"Oh my God.." Dean spoke in a barely audible whisper. He nearly ran towards the now standing Sam. Pulling him into a hug, he fought back the tears that were forming.

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam asked in his usual concerned way. Castiel, who was pushed to the side, had his head tilted back and eyes squinted.

"Oh, uh, nothing." Dean replied, pulling away from Sam reluctantly. Clearing his throat, Sam rolled his eyes and pulled Dean back into another hug. Unlike the usual Dean, who would push Sam away and sneer at the thought of a 'chick flick moment', Dean hugged back tighter, closing his eyes as he inhaled his younger brothers scent.

"I love you, Sammy." Dean whispered again, not trusting his voice for he was afraid it would crack if he spoke any louder. Dean could feel the laugh as it echoed over Sam's body as he replied.

_"I love you too, Dean."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I hope you enjoyed the story! Let me know down below if you would like to see something similar to this. Maybe in a longer version -- a completely story, if you will. 
> 
> (I also apologize for any heartbreak/misery this has caused you. For it caused me great damage to write this.)


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